The Pearl
by Daimhin
Summary: A man and a woman, and a pearl earring. For Sweetburgundy.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Do not own them, but love them dearly. I am very much in awe of so much work which has been written here, so thanks to everyone for writing such wonderful stories! This is for Sweetburgundy x**

* * *

She is falling. Her thoughts had not been on the road nor focused on the purpose of her brisk steps. The inevitability of her fall is caused by her own distraction; she is aware of that and this ruffles her even more.

Caught by surprise nonetheless, her hair frees itself of several pins, and a blush appears on her face. This is something she could miss right now – people seeing her in a physically vulnerable state. Yet the early daylight seems her only companion, and the birds continue to sing without giving her away.

When she gets back up, she notices the dirt on her skirt and how several grains of sand have lodged themselves in the palms of her hands. She senses a mild headache coming on, but the pearl earring which has rolled into the grass slips her notice as she silently proceeds to walk towards the hospital.

In the hall her mind is no longer elsewhere – it has shifted from a twirling sensation to a steadiness familiar to a competent nurse. No doubt the apron she'd be wearing would hide the stains on her frock, and if not, changing could wait.

"Mrs Crawley!"

Doctor Clarkson comes to a stop in the corridor, relieved to finally see her. The curt comment he was about to make dies on his lips when he notices her dishevelled appearance and instead she gets a silent, questioning look. Her answer supplies for him the testiness of his intended remark about her lateness, though.

"I'm sorry; I had a small accident on the way over."

To his now knitted eyebrows she simply answers "- nothing to worry about, I'm perfectly fine."

And picking up on her apparent ability to distinguish priorities, it is swiftly that Richard goes on to relate that Mr Lowry is already being prepared for the operation.

* * *

"You are missing an earring, Mrs Crawley."

They are almost done for the day, and the sun is settling its hues on the infirmary's wooden walls.

Her hands come up to her ears, surprised at the comment, and a low hum of disappointment escapes her when they find but one instead of two white twins.

"I must have lost it…"

Her expression becomes troubled when she thinks back to the morning fall and to the telephone call she had received. And then her mind turns, as it still so often seems to do of late, to her darling boy.

"Matthew gave them to me."

With that, Doctor Clarkson's expression becomes a mirror of Mrs Crawley's.

"Would you like to go and look for them?"

"No, thank you, doctor."

She dismisses the nagging feeling in her stomach, turning back to the clipboard on the bedstead.

But as the attention of someone in love sees many things others would overlook, Richard did not miss the suppressed strain in her voice.

"Nurse Garnett!"

A young woman looks up from the bed she is making, letting a blanket fall into place.

"Yes, doctor?"

"Could you please take over from Mrs Crawley for a moment?"

Isobel wants to fix him with a glare. She was so sure she was able to carry on without being fussed over these days. Oddly enough, she feels the desire to oppose him leave her nevertheless.

Grateful, and a bit relieved, she smiles at him then and hands the clipboard to Emily.


	2. Chapter 2

She tries to be strong; she always knows how to be strong when pain comes creeping up on her.

_It's only an earring._

Yet combing the grass by the sidewalk, Isobel cannot stop her eyes from spangling the withered blades.

* * *

Richard sighs.

She'd said she'd not be gone for too long.

"Nurse Thompson, Mrs Crawley has lost a pearl earring. If any of you find one, be sure to return it to her, please."

The head nurse nods observantly, obediently.

"If anything happens, you can get Doctor Golt. He's in my office."

Mrs Crawley hasn't been the same since the passing of her son, but the doctor hasn't been the same either.

They had both softened somehow.

* * *

The late summer haze has kept some children on the street, providing him with a small distraction as he scans the road for her.

Coming up with nothing, he casts a look in the direction of the church. He has not seen her there often, but maybe this is one of the times… He refrains and makes a movement to go back inside, when he discerns her on the bench behind the chestnut tree.

He hesitates, but then makes his way over; across the road, across the lawn. Hands by her sides, she is holding on firmly. Her eyes are closed, but when she opens them, he can see a watery film reflecting the sky above.

"Thank you."

She looks at him and nods towards the hospital, referring to him dismissing her earlier.

"I can't find it, so I suppose it doesn't matter, though."

Her voice sounds defiant now, but the look in her eyes is dispirited, her demeanour a disheartening reminder of the first weeks after the funeral. He fights the urge to say too much, and succeeds by speaking truthfully and gingerly.

"I'm sure it does…"

She doesn't know what to say to that and so she remains quiet, and lets the silence surge back over her instead.

_He's right, of course._

"It can be helpful to let others take care of you every once in a while, Mrs Crawley… As a nurse at least, I'm sure you're aware of that."

He has already averted his eyes when she looks up, glancing over at the children running around.

She sighs.

"I suppose there is some truth to that, doctor Clarkson."

He hesitates a second time, but speaks again.

"It's rather a task looking out for you, Mrs Crawley, not only as a doctor, but as a friend as well."

His gaze returns to her, questioning his ability to stay on the fine line of balance he had tried to walk during the past few months.

He cannot see if he's failed, since her mind seems to have strayed elsewhere.

"My brother called this morning, asking if I wanted to stay with him and his family for a while."

A pensive look is spread across her face as she answers him, and he feels an unexpected gratefulness that she has other people looking out for her as well.

"Nurse Garnett is doing well. And with my new assistant we should be able to cope…" he offers.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, doctor?"

She smiles a bit at this, softening the blow and the reddening of his cheeks.

And as he searches for words with which to reply, she quietly adds,

"He gave them to me after he got his first job, with Christmas."

_Pearl; just like you, mother._

Her features turn soft and he sees her warmth suddenly winning the struggle to break out.

"You must have been very proud of him."

She nods, and allows a small smile to linger on her lips.

"We should go back."

"If you wish – of course."

And as he walks steadily beside her, the last sun rays single out the gold in her hair.

A thought comes back to him, when they traverse the dusty road.

"Where did you fall, Mrs Crawley?"

She seems lost in thought for a moment, reminding him of an infant, starkly lost without a hand to hold onto.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't really paying any attention, doctor." She shakes her head, heads towards the gate with a resilient pace.

* * *

He looks up in question when the steady rhythm of heels is followed by a rap on his door.

"Enter."

He feels the coolness of the tiled corridor enter his office, making him realize how warm he'd actually felt.

"I found this outside, doctor."

The nurse holds out a small piece of intricate gold work, inviting him to walk around his desk to inspect it.

"Is this Mrs Crawley's earring?"

_The pearl is missing._

"Yes, it is…, but this is only a part of it. You didn't find anything else, did you?"

The woman shakes her head, disappointed.

"Please, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to Mrs Crawley. Not if it can be mended."

A look of understanding passes between them, and Nurse Thompson knows what to answer.

"Of course, doctor. Goodnight."

"Goodnight. And thank you, Megan."


	3. Chapter 3

He is almost late as he absently makes his way through the crowd; he hurries up the stairs chased by the whistle.

During the brief look cast around the wagon he ends up in, he notices a purple woman's hat and he cannot help but think of her, and sigh with impatience at himself.

_She has only just left._

He walks on through the carriage, carefully checking if the broken jewel is still safely tucked in his handkerchief. In the past week, none of the staff had found the pearl.

"Going somewhere, doctor Clarkson?"

_Good god..._

Dread and eagerness fight to gain the upper hand in his head as he swivels around, startled.

It was not his imagination, though.

"Mrs Crawley!"

"Hello, doctor", she smiles brightly at him. "I didn't know you would be travelling today."

He nods, and his pleasant surprise at seeing her momentarily wins out.

"I thought you had left this morning?"

She directs a concerned look towards the station master on the other side of the window and shrugs lightly.

"Well, there was a problem with the engine and they had to pull the train off the track. And make us wait for the ten o'clock."

Her manner calms most of Richard's nerves, convincing him that she hasn't noticed the shadow of apprehension that flitted across his face.

"Your brother will be worried, Mrs Crawley."

"Molesley said he would give him a call when he'd get back to the house…

And I doubt Evelyn will mind," she adds as an afterthought, "She always says she hasn't enough time to prepare for anything. Now especially, with the grandchildren coming over every so often…"

Her eyes shade into sombreness as they glide across the platform, but he catches on quickly.

"He will be fine, Mrs Crawley. Now that his mother has taken to him, life will only get better for him… He will be happy."

And she smiles at the effect his gentle remark seems to have on her.

"I'm glad our train broke down, doctor Clarkson. It's nice to travel with a friend."

* * *

"This is very well-made, sir."

Noticing the absent wedding band on the gentleman's hand, the old man just can't resist.

"Your wife's, is it, sir?"

Mr Johnson continues to appraise the piece innocently, carefully turning it around in his palm.

He smiles a little as he senses the man's discomfort; Doctor Clarkson is caught unawares, and it shows.

When he hears his client clear his throat to actually offer him an explanation, Mr Johnson feels a bit ashamed; prying had not been his intent, so he quickly cuts the man off.

"I take it you are looking for a fitting pearl, sir?"

Despite his mischievous nature, the old man does have the eye of a reputable jeweller.

"I am, yes… How long would it take you to have it ready?"

"I'm afraid we don't have such extensive resources here – we would have to send it to London, sir. It will probably take a few weeks, but we'd certainly be able to find a suitable match there… Is it urgent?"

"No…, though I had hoped to have it back before October, if that's possible?"

_October._

"We'll do our best, sir… Could you fill this out for us, please?"

_When she returns._

* * *

Not many people were left on the train; it was Monday, after all, and high season was practically over.

When he'd gotten off in Ripon, Isobel had felt the feeling of loneliness reclaiming her.

Doctor Clarkson – _Richard_, as she sometimes referred to him in the privacy of her thoughts.

After he'd left, she had tried to keep herself occupied by reading, but as the train sped on in the sun, she was forced to admit that it really was of little avail.

_The first time he had travelled by himself._

She leans her head against her hand in a defeated effort to keep the memories at bay.

_Don't worry, mother, I'll be fine and back before you know it._

The heavy steel bolts on as she covers her eyes, casting shade on the walls of the carriage.

* * *

**A/N**: Don't worry, they won't be separated for too long :)

Also, I am aware that this story's style isn't regular around here, so speak your opinion, please, if you can spare a moment, about what you dislike/like; it would be very appreciated! In any case: have a nice day, dearest reader :)


	4. Chapter 4

She is staring beyond the lilies and the colouring leaves, her gaze unfocused.

He studies her profile in the darkening room, as she doesn't answer him at first.

He has learnt when to practise patience.

"Isobel?"

He closes the doors behind him, forcing the sound of chatter to retreat into the hall.

It takes a while until the new-found silence is broken.

"Evelyn has kept me busy today."

Her tone is even, analytic, yet so is her brother's reply.

"Sometimes it is better than doing nothing."

He moves to stand next to her, his younger sibling, who thinks back to the childish enthusiasm displayed at the zoo.

"Your grandchildren enjoyed it."

She breathes back in again at that, relieved that the thought actually makes her smile.

He doesn't like it one bit, to take advantage of her momentary drop of guard, but he knows that it has to be done.

"Do you want to talk about Matthew?"

A frown appears on her brow, one which he remembers all too well.

She waits for the fog in her head to clear up, -although it somehow seems that that is something it would never do.

Her features contort visibly and she swallows hard, but she does find the courage to speak.

"First Reginald…"

Her body tenses as if ready to jump, then.

A sea of grief rushes to catch up with her, and it comes out in a strangled sob.

"And now my boy…"

As her brother moves to hold her, the first tears start to fall.

* * *

The long day has done nothing for his nerves, and he still has some paperwork to do.

It is thinking of her that he makes his way home; he had told her to go, for her sake.

The two letters are firmly clasped in his hand as he enters the narrow hallway. His hat is discarded, his coat he does not bother to hang away.

The one marked with 'Johnson's Jewellery Ripon', he opens immediately.

_Dear Sir,_

_We have this date received word that a fitting pearl has been found for the earring you entrusted us with. _

_We are glad to inform you that it will be at your disposal from the 24th of September onwards, as per your request of speed of delivery. _

_Attached hereto is a copy of our bill from London._

_ Yours truly,_

_ Arthur Johnson_

He puts down the letter; pleased at the words he just read, he reaches for the other one without further thought.

His hand hovers in mid-air as realisation dawns, making him relent apprehensively instead.

* * *

She has calmed down, is breathing evenly again; the tears that flooded from her left her feeling lighter.

"Do you remember when Reg and I tried to move the couch, and he insisted that you wouldn't like it?"

Edward shakes his head in merriment.

"He just planted himself on it, and refused to budge."

It takes a moment as he wonders at the memory.

"You did mind, didn't you?"

She doesn't speak, only smiles in answer, and a long-gone spark gently returns to her eyes.

* * *

The fire is crackling in the stove when he finally permits himself to read the second letter, and he has to move to his chair by the window to catch the last of the evening light.

_Dear Dr Clarkson,_

_Thank you for your letter. I am cheered by hearing that you are visiting Manchester, even if it is for purposes of business. I suspect that you will have much to do, but I hope that we could still meet for lunch; I would be very glad to see a familiar face from Yorkshire and am truly eager to hear about the newest developments in the treatment of tuberculosis._

_Everyone here is very kind to keep me occupied, but I have to confess that I feel a bit out of place after having lived in Downton for so many years now. My brother's grandchildren are here for the week and so it is often that I think of George, who too will be running around before too long. _

_I remember the kind words you spoke to me before I left and I have to admit that they have stayed in my mind since. As I find myself in lack of having thanked you properly for them before, I hope you can forgive me as I send you my thanks now, and admit to you freely that I have come to cherish them._

_I trust that you are well,_

_Your sincere friend,_

_Isobel Crawley_


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** **A short chapter, and a promise to update regularly in the future. It was also rather hard for me to see what is going wrong or right here; please let me know what you think if you have the time.**

* * *

The sight reminds her of Matthew, and of Reginald – of when she sometimes came to pick them up after a long day of lectures.

She watches the men spill out into the courtyard, through the iron gates out into the street, the chilly autumn breeze making them reach for their buttons and scarves. Some of the doctors linger by the exit, failing to agree on the last speech made inside.

_There he is._

He is standing at the outskirts of the group, seemingly waiting for permission to leave; his eyes are wandering, looking for her.

When their gazes lock, she smiles at him from a distance and walks patiently towards where he would arrive on her side of the road.

* * *

"I'm looking forward to implement some changes at the hospital."

"You are willing to try?"

She sounds a bit surprised, so he explains.

"I don't see why not. It would be good training for the staff as well... Your brother spoke quite convincingly, Mrs Crawley... He reminded me of you in that aspect."

She is smiling as he glances over at her, admiring the outlines of her face against the grey sky, the wisps of flax that come peeping from beneath her hat.

_Not that I would need anybody to remind me of you._

He tries to keep his mind from straying as the clouds above fulfil their promise. The tiles beneath their feet are slowly changing colour as Isobel fumbles with her umbrella and they move towards the nearest gallery.

The wind has gotten colder too, Mrs Crawley's shawl tighter around her body, when he asks if she would like to go inside for tea, maybe warm up a bit.

"I'd rather walk, if you don't mind."

She looks at him.

"Matthew and I used to do it quite often when he was younger. I used to pick him up after classes from school, sometimes from university as well. The rain never bothered us – in fact, we quite liked it."

He feels honoured at her sincerity and dips his head in agreement.

"Since we've been in all day and it was quite stuffy inside – no, I don't mind."

With a small smile he offers her his arm.

She takes it, and then raises her umbrella to protect them both against the drops plummeting from the skies.

* * *

There is a gentle hesitation in his voice, yet no pity when Dr Clarkson finally asks:

"How are you, Mrs Crawley?"

Isobel looks away at first, but where she once felt resistance, even a slight annoyance, she is now overtaken by warmth.

She smiles to herself.

"Being here reminds me of what I still have, Doctor."

_Of George, and of Mary..._

For a while they are both lost in thought, and keep silent.

"I'm not much use around here either; most of the time I just go for a walk. I dare say I miss my occupation at the hospital."

It doesn't take too long before he answers her.

"You are missed there as well, Mrs Crawley."

At those earnest words, her mind shifts from the problems in the ward, to other times.

_Our talks..._

She looks up at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

_You._

She pales a little, and doesn't answer him immediately.

A clock chimes once, muffled by the rain.

"I'm afraid I should get back."

His asking gaze shakes her into reply.

"Of course... I'm glad you came, thank you."

"It's been my pleasure. Please drop by at the hospital when you get back, if you feel like it. I'm sure we could find you something to do."

She nods, and her gaze lingers as he walks away from her.

Suddenly she finds it odd to see him go, taking her sense of home with him.


	6. Chapter 6

It seems a convenience that she has to take nobody else into account; she can walk out the door at will, let her coat billow in the wind.

In the last few weeks, secluded walks had become a custom of hers; usually after breakfast, she would get out of the house and be alone with her thoughts. Later in the day there would always be company - she has been asked to go up to the Abbey this afternoon.

It's a lonely walk; there isn't as much to see as in the city. The village is not that big, the waving fields beckoning from afar. Apart from the farmers hiding between the crops, there seems to be but the evergreen of the hedges along the road, playing its game of alternation with the colouring trees, scattered few and far between.

She looks and looks, and looks some more, yet her consciousness gets the better of her in the end and she does start to ponder.

_I had my reasons..._

She had seen no place, no desired need in her life, for Richard's offer.

However, that is not why she has been avoiding the hospital.

It would be like a return to life as before...

She thinks of Crawley house in the morning, of how silent it had been.

Almost _bearable_ – yet another reason to get away.

Wandering on, she tries to take in the countryside surroundings as a mouse dashes across the track; she notices the harvest has begun.

* * *

"How nice to see you again, Mrs Crawley."

The corners of his mouth turn upward, and after a short exchange with the head nurse he moves away from the patient's bedside.

As he approaches her, a brief smile of her own appears.

"And you, Doctor. I was wondering if we could talk… I know it has been a while, but I'd like to get more involved again."

Despite the surety of her tone there is a guarded look in her eyes, and the significance of her request is not lost on either of them.

"I'm very glad you feel that way, Mrs Crawley... I'll try to see to it that you won't be too burdened,-"

"Excuse me, Doctor."

With a small huff, Richard steps back to let one of the nurses pass through the isle.

His demeanour changes slightly as he addresses Isobel again, his impatience somewhat reined in.

"- though I dare say you'll instruct me otherwise."

He closes the folder in his hand and looks up at her, quietly.

"You might be right on that score."

She looks away for a moment, and briefly Dr Clarkson eyes the room around them too; the bustle is very distracting, unpleasantly reminding him of his duty.

"I hate to ask, Mrs Crawley, but could you come back in the afternoon? We're terribly busy at the moment, and-"

"Oh, please, don't apologise. I'm afraid I can't this afternoon; Mary and George are expecting me... I can come by tomorrow."

Her interruption is a subtle mix of eagerness and regret, and for a second Richard's free hand wanders to his collar, reflective.

"It would have to be after five. We could have some tea if you'd like to?"

In the background Nurse Thompson is waiting patiently, and Isobel senses she should go.

"I'll be here a little after five then."

He follows her gaze and stills for a moment to take her in, reassuringly, before he replies.

"Then I'll be waiting for you, Mrs Crawley."

He closes the conversation with a polite smile and moves away to continue his work.

Isobel wants to turn as well, in the other direction, but she doesn't.

She knows why when he looks back at her, and they share another smile before she leaves.

* * *

He opens the drawer, taking out the little treasury from between his ties. On his return journey from Manchester he had picked up the repaired earring, stored securely in a little black box.

He had noticed the jewellery on her before; the earrings were rather small and she had worn them often to work in the past. What he hadn't done before though, was to study the jewel in his possession in detail. It had always felt too intrusive to him - it still does -, but as the pearl glimmers by the simmering fire, he cannot help dwelling.

_Understated, radiant._

_Very much like her._

He tries not to linger as he reaches for his newly purchased handkerchief, discarding the box. It wouldn't do for her to know the earring had been broken.

* * *

**AN: Not long now ;)**


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